Leaper, Don't Be a Hero!
by Holli
Summary: Just your typical Hogan's Heroes and Quantum Leap Cross-Over. (Chapter 11 is now up)
1. The Leap In

(*Author's note: This is my first actual fan fiction. I would like to hear any suggestions that you would like to make on how this could be made better. I just want to make a comment on the language that I'm using for this fic. Since I don't really know anything about the German language (and because I don't want to butcher it), I'm going to go English on everything. When talk is between two German speaking characters, the language is German- that sort of thing. I may try to fit some phases of German here and there (like on the Television show) but I can't promise anything. Sorry about the title- I know it's a bad pun, I just couldn't think of anything better. I think that's enough for an Author's note, don't you?)  
  


**Leaper, Don't Be a Hero! **  


He was pretty sure that he had been drugged. And kidnaped. Why was beyond him, but he was pretty sure that was the case. He had to have been drugged. His head wasn't injured, he was sure of that (at least, there was no pain), and yet, he found that he couldn't remember things. Important things, like his name. 

That scared him more than he was ready to admit even to himself. 

So far, no one had come to check on him in this curious light blue room. On one hand, he didn't mind because it gave him a chance to orient himself. On the other, his efforts at orienting himself only served to make him more confused. His mind was filled with a jumble of strange images. A banner with an odd crooked cross; men in black uniforms shouting and marching around with an almost hypnotic symmetry; an infuriating man, who was somehow a friend, smirking at him and stealing his cigars; a fat man saying something about prisoners . . . Those were the things that seemed familiar, an anchor to who he was. There were more images, disconnected from the others. Katie; Tom; Al- those names and the faces they were linked to didn't seem right. It was like they didn't belong to him. As if they weren't his memories.

But that was absurd, wasn't it? How could he remember someone else's memories? 

He shook his head. This was getting him absolutely nowhere. He needed answers and he needed them now.  
After scraping up his nerve, quite a feat under the circumstances, he opened his mouth to demand that someone, anyone, tell him why he was here, tell him when he could go home, tell him where home was.

But before he could actually voice his demands, a hidden door opened and in stepped in someone he remembered- not from his own memories- from the memories that weren't his. She was a tall graceful Negro woman wearing what looked to be a lab coat. She smiled at him and he stared at her warily. Though the memories of her told him to trust her, he didn't completely trust those memories. But he was reasonably sure about one thing, he knew her name. 

"Hello Verbena."

The look of shock on her face couldn't have been greater if he had suddenly pulled an elephant out of his nose. Her face blanched ever-so slightly (with her dark skin it was hard to see) and she stared at him as if he were a ghost. "Sam?"

He took a moment to consider it. Sam. Was that his name? While he had no way to be sure, he didn't think so. He shook his head and felt saddened to see the hope leech out of her brown eyes. Whom ever this "Sam" was, he must have been important to her. 

After a second or two, she had recovered herself, though a faint look of disappointment remained. Mainly, she looked curious. It made him distinctly uncomfortable to be the focus of her intense scrutiny. Actually, he was perilously close to fear. Maybe a little panic too. "All right," she began, her tone cool and professional, "What is your name, and how did you know mine."

He felt a bead of sweat form on his brow. "I don't know who I am. I was rather hoping that you would." When she made no effort to answer him, he continued, "As for knowing your name, I don't know about that either. I remember you, but . . ." How could he explain with out sounding as if he had lost his mind? Maybe he had already lost it; maybe that was why he was here in the first place. 

"But what?"

"It's difficult to explain. I remember you, but it's not me who's remembering."

She looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"It is as if I have someone else's memories floating around my head."

"Do you know who's memories they are? What else do you remember?" She asked quickly, sounding more than professionally interested. 

He licked his lips, a sick sort of knot forming in his stomach. "I don't know. I can remember many people: Katie, Gooshie, Al, Tina, Tom- other things. But they aren't mine. I know that."

The look of shock had made a second appearance, though not as pronounced as the first time. She stood, "I have to go, but I'll be back soon. Just sit tight." With that she walked back out the door and he was alone again.

***

As Sam's senses returned and the blue light of the leap faded, he immediately became aware of two things: he was holding a telephone and a voice in the receiver was shouting at him in German. How he understood what the voice was shouting about, Sam wasn't sure. Possibly German had been one of the languages that he had forgotten that he knew how to speak or maybe he was left with that much of the host's mind. Either way, he understood the words and he didn't like what he heard.

". . . General Boes is visiting you pathetic little Stalag and I want to make sure that you won't mess it up this time. He is very influential in Berlin, if you don't keep him comfortable, you can be certain that you will be shipped to the Russian front so fast that you won't know that you're dead until you hit the ground with a bullet in your chest! Do you understand, Kink?!"

"Um . . . yes, yes, I understand." Sam said nervously- why did he feel so nervous all of the sudden? Another "gift" from the host?

"Good. I'm glad that we have an understanding." he paused, as if waiting for something. "Well, I have better things to do than talk to you. Goodbye and Hail Hitler!"

"Hail Hitler." Sam replied automatically as the receiver on the other end hung up. 'Hail Hitler'? Where was he this time? Or, more importantly, when?

Sam looked around the office, for office it was, from behind the desk he sat at. His eyes were immediately drawn to the red and white Nazi banner in the corner and the picture of Hitler that hung beside it. Then he looked down at himself. He saw medals on his front, German medals, and mixed with them was a small pin that was embossed with an equally small swastika.

"Oh boy," he breathed. He was a Nazi. But how could that be possible? The second World War had ended be for he was even born. So, unless he was a Neo-Nazi, which for some reason didn't seem right, he was outside of his lifetime. Which shouldn't be possible. If it was true . . . well, his string theory was wrong and so was the whole Quantum Leap project itself. 

But before rewriting his theory, he decided to investigate.  
  


After digging through piles of papers and rifling through the desk drawers, Sam managed to find a calendar. He wasn't happy to learn that he would have to rewrite his theory after all. The date was September 3, 1943, almost ten years before he was born. With a tired sigh, he slouched down in his chair, confused and lost. What was he going to do? What if Ziggy couldn't locate him? 

He found himself taking a sip of liquor not remembering filling the glass. First he glared at the bottle (Schnapps?) on the corner of his desk as if it were it's fault he had given in to the habits of the host. Then he stared at the glass in his hand with more than a little annoyance. 

Great, he thought resentfully, not only have I leaped into a Nazi, I've leaped into a drunk Nazi. Deliberately, Sam placed the glass back on the desk. He didn't usually drink and he had no intention of starting now. But the glass did look tempting . . .

Abruptly, Sam stood. "Well," he said aloud, more to take his mind off the glass that sat invitingly on his desk than anything else, "I can't stay here forever. Maybe I can find out where I am. I already know when I am and it doesn't look like Al's going to turn up any time soon." He carefully avoided thinking about the fact that Al might never turn up. He was having enough problems with out that fear added to them. Besides, it didn't bear thinking about, Al always came through.

Sam walked over to a hat stand and took one of the grey coats that was hanging on it. After slipping it on he looked back at the desk. The idea that he was running away from a drink galled him, but he comforted himself by thinking that there was nothing more to be gained by hanging around. With that thought he turned and walked out the door.

***  
  
TO BE CONTINUED

(in about a week)

(Maybe)


	2. Revelations

(*Author's note: I forgot to mention that I don't own Hogan's Heroes or Quantum Leap and the trademarked characters and places that go with them. I'm not sure who owns them, but it's not me. And while I don't think for a minute that executives from either of those companies is going to read this, well, better safe than sorry. Better to ere on the side of caution, as it were. Well, that's all I have to say right now)

***

He was starting to remember more. He knew his name, for one thing- that had come to him in a flash. It was Wilhelm, Wilhelm Kink. He also knew that he was German, or at least, that he lived there. Some things, however, seemed to elude him. Like a reason that he was in this strange place to begin with.. He couldn't understand it. There didn't seem to be a reason. It didn't look like a hospital or an institution. He was alone, he always figured that hospitals and institutions were crowded and even when they weren't crowded, patients didn't usually get their own rooms.

After Verbena had left, he had done a little exploring. There were two rooms that he had access to: the room with the bed and the strange, and seemingly purposeless, semi-circle railing; and a bathroom. The bathroom had everything one might expect to find- except a mirror. How was he supposed to shave? Although, to be fair, it wasn't as if he had been able to find a razor anyway.

Wilhelm had noticed something else as well, though he tried to ignore it with minimal success. He seemed to be literally not himself. From what he could recollect, he was somewhat, alright, completely, passed his prime. Yet he felt fit and the body underneath the skin tight flesh colored suit looked firm and young. He also had hair again and the vision in his left eye was completely clear. It made no sense. 

He felt as if his world had been turned upside down and he had been thrown into some kind of Jules Verne novel. Invasion of the Body Snatchers came to his mind, and although he couldn't recall the reference, it seem to fit somehow. All in all, he didn't care for the situation and he wished that someone would concede to tell him what was going on.

Eventually, he sat back on the bed, feeling a bit overwhelmed by it all. He tried to dredge more information from his muddled mind before surrendering to defeat. He still wasn't getting anywhere.

When he heard the door open again, Wilhelm didn't bother looking up. He figured that it was Verbena, returning as promised. That was why he was caught completely by surprise when he heard the gravelly voice. "All right, I need some information."

For some reason the word "interrogation" popped into Wilhelm's mind. And he knew that "interrogation" wasn't pleasant. In fact, it seemed that it should border on the unpleasant. Maybe a bit more than unpleasant. He looked up and sighed in relief. He knew this man too and something told him that he could be trusted. 

"Hello Al." Wilhelm tactfully decided not to say anything about the man's singularly bizarre attire, instead he decided to focus on more immediate concerns. "What am I doing here?"

If Al was unnerved by Wilhelm's knowledge of his name, he didn't show it. Ignoring the question, Al asked a few of his own. "What's the date and what's your name?"

The latter poised no problem to Wilhelm as he had already figured it out. But why would Al need to know the date? Shouldn't he know? Unless. . . Unless Al wanted to be sure that he knew it. Did he?

After thinking about it for a moment, it too came to him. "As far as I know, the date is October10, 1943. My name is Wilhelm Kink." Thinking that it was about time he was let out of the dark, he added, "And I think that it's time that you answered some of my questions."

Al didn't answer him. He actually looked a bit paler. What is it about me, Wilhelm asked himself, that makes people pale so? 

"Are you sure that's the date?" Al sounded as if he hoped that Wilhelm had been mistaken.

However, Wilhelm hadn't made a mistake, as far as he knew, and he was getting tired of being prodded at. "How should I know!" he said irritably. "I have no way of knowing how long I've been in this prison of yours." As the words flew out of his mouth, things were coming together in his mind. He wasn't just in prison. He wasn't just a prisoner. He was a prisoner of war. He was a German soldier and Al was an American . . . well, he was American. It all made a kind of sense. For the moment he ignored the fact that he seemed to have someone else's memories and turned on Al, triumphant.

"I get it now. You are tying to get me to, what is it?, 'spill the beans', aren't you? Well, you can do what you want, I'm not going to tell you anything." He hoped that he had said that last bit with more bravery than he felt. He wasn't sure how long he could take an "interrogation", but he had a feeling that he wouldn't last long.

Al shook his head. "You aren't a prisoner and I don't plan on torturing you for this information. I just need to know some things."

Wilhelm felt torn. The memories said that not only was Al trust worthy, he was also a friend. But his common sense, what common sense he could get together, said that he had already said too much. What to do?

"Well," Wilhelm began with hesitation, leaving the question of 'If I'm not a prisoner, why are you keeping me here?' for later, "it depends on what you need to know."

"Fair enough." Al looked at Wilhelm intently, almost predatorily "What's the last thing that you can remember?"

Trying to ignore the intensity of Al's gaze, he thought for a moment. "I remember being in my office. I was on the telephone with . . . with one of those Gestapo generals." Wilhelm sighed, "I can't remember anything more after that . . ." He trailed off, noticing that Al didn't seem to be listening. In fact, Al's eyes had widened the merest bit and he looked at Wilhelm as if he had grown another head.

"You're a Nazi." Al said the word as if it were a curse. 

Nazi. National Socialist Party. Hitler. Yes, it was the missing piece that Wilhelm had been looking for. Well, one of them. He nodded slowly. 

Al's features hardened and without another word, he stalked out of the door.

Wilhelm stared after him, feeling more lost than ever. He knew that Americans had no reason to love Nazis, they were at war after all, but that wasn't enough to explain the look of pure hatred that had appeared on Al's face when Wilhelm had made his admission. It was like Wilhelm had become something worse than a killer when he said he was a Nazi. 

Whatever propaganda the allies have been getting about us, he thought, it must be very effective to get a reaction like that.

***

After saying hello to Kink's secretary, whose name he knew was Hilda, and walking out into the crisp morning air, Sam felt a bit better. Until he saw the barbed wire and the rickety looking barracks. His first thought had been 'concentration camp'. 

He breathed a mental sigh of relief when he realized that the figures roaming the camp were not the emaciated figures in striped rags that he had seen so many pictures of. They looked healthy enough and they wore uniforms: American; French; English . . . It was a Prisoner Of War camp. 

He turned back towards the building that he had just left. There was a sign which read 'Kommandant.' So, Sam thought, this Kink is a Commandant of a POW camp. Well, that was just great. He got to be a drunk Nazi who ran his own prison. Wonderful. Perfect.

Sam was shaken from his melancholy by a tap on his shoulder. He spun around and glared at the cocky young man in an American Colonel's uniform. To Sam's surprise, he knew this man's name. "Hogan."

Hogan smiled, "I'm glad that you haven't forgotten me."

"What do you want?" Sam snarled. He wasn't sure how this Kink acted, but he hoped that he was doing it right.

Obviously he wasn't, for Hogan looked at him strangely. "Are you all right, sir?" He actually sounded somewhat concerned.

"I'm fine." When Hogan just stared, clearly unconvinced, Sam added, "I didn't sleep well."

Hogan nodded slowly, still not completely convinced but seemingly willing to let the matter rest. "I don't really want anything. Just wanted to shoot the breeze is all."

For some reason, Sam did not believe this for one moment. He also did not have time to pursue it. Behind Hogan, he saw the Imaging Chamber door opening. "Excuse me, Hogan, but I really must go."

Hurriedly, Sam turned from Hogan and motioned to Al to follow him back towards the office. As intent as he was to get to the office to talk to Al, he didn't notice Hogan staring after him, looking perplexed.

  
  


As soon as the office door was shut, Sam turned to Al. "What am I doing here?"

Al shook his head, "We don't know yet, Sam. Ziggy doesn't have all of the information yet on this time period."

"That's not what I meant. How come I leaped outside of my own lifetime?"

"We're working on it." Al sighed, "Ziggy's blowing a gasket on this one."

Sam nodded and began to pace. "Do you have anything for me?" When he received no immediate response, he stopped. "Well?"

Al sighed again, "I didn't stay with the visitor very long." He fiddled with his cigar for a moment before he continued, "After I found out that he was a Nazi, well, I just couldn't stick around." Al held up a hand, forestalling any comments Sam might have made over his conduct, "I know it was the wrong thing to do." Jabbing his finger at the hand link, he went on, "But we do have some information for you."

Sam made a curt get-on-with-it gesture.

"You are a Colonel Wilhelm Kink and it says here that you run Stalag 13, a POW camp in Luft." Al hit the link and smiled as it had the desired affect, "in Luftwaffe, Germany. The date is October 10th, 1943 and until Ziggy can get some more data, that's all there is."

"It's October? The calendar I found said that it was September."

Al shrugged, "Maybe Kink doesn't keep good records."

Sighing, Sam sat heavily down at the chair behind the desk and put his head in his hands. "What am I supposed to do Al? I don't know how to act like a Nazi. I haven't been here more than ten minutes and someone's supious already." He looked up at Al, "What kind of person is Kink?"

"From what I saw of our visitor, I don't think Kink is the forceful type; of course, I didn't see him for very long. For all I know he's the quiet, sadistic type. I suggest that you just keep a low profile until Ziggy's done downloading the data."

Sam laughed humorlessly. "Thanks a bunch, Al."

"Yeah. Well, it's the best I can do. I'll get back to you when Ziggy's done."

Before Al had a chance to leave, Sam said, "Wait. Al, can you get me some information on a General Boes? He's supposed to come here soon."

"All right, I'll find what I can. Be careful, Sam."

Sam nodded to Al's retreating form. "You bet I will, Al."

***

TO BE CONTINUED

(again)


	3. Suspicions

(*Author's note: Well, this story is getting a bit longer than I had anticipated. I don't know whether that's a good thing or not. I'm sure someone will make me aware if it is. Since I am as fallible as the next author, I would like it if you find any mistakes (continuity, character, whatever-wise) that you let me know. That way I can fix it and make my story better. Oh, and if anyone would be interested in beta reading this for me (before I post it) I would really be grateful. Thank you)

***

After being abruptly dismissed by Klink, it took Hogan a few seconds to take it all in. First Kink wandered out of his office without his gloves, riding crop and monocle. Then Klink preceded to snap at him before he had even done anything. Finally, to top it all off, Klink suddenly rushed back to his office. It was odd, even for Klink. Something in Hogan's gut told him that something was going on, and he had no intention of missing any of it.

Hogan looked around to see if he was being watched. Satisfied that no one was paying him undue attention, he sneaked under Klink's office window. Luckily, the window was open enough for Hogan to hear what was happening inside. However, he couldn't really understand what he was hearing. It sounded like Klink was talking to and answering someone who wasn't there. Hogan chanced sneaking a look inside. Sure enough, there was Klink, talking to thin air.

"It's October? The calendar I found said that it was September." Then there was a pause and Hogan thought that he heard Klink sigh. "What am I supposed to do, Al? I don't know how to act like a Nazi. I haven't been here more than ten minutes and someone's suspicious already." Before Hogan could even try to make sense of that last bit, he heard words that he wished he hadn't. "What kind of person is Klink?" What was that supposed to mean?

Hogan didn't have a chance to hear anymore. He noticed a guard coming his way and he was in no condition to make up a probable reason for him to be hanging around under the Commandant's window. Trying to look more nonchalant than he felt, Hogan made his way to Barracks Two as quickly as he could without arousing suspicion.  
  


When Hogan arrived at Barracks Two, he found his men hard at work. Well, working hard to win at cards. However, Hogan had no time to waste. Maybe there was a chance to hear some more of the strange one sided conversation Klink had been having. "Kinchloe, I need you on the bug in Klink's office."

Kinchloe nodded, putting down his cards. No one asked questions as everyone else abandoned their cards as well. No doubt there were many that they wanted to ask and Hogan was grateful that they were able to contain themselves.

After finally getting into the radio room, they managed to catch a tinny sounding Klink say, ". . .soon." A short pause and then, "You bet I will, Al." Then nothing.

"That's enough." Hogan told Kinchloe. Turning to the rest of his men, he told them what he had heard and what he had seen earlier. 

"I think that we can all agree that there is something very wrong in Denmark." Hogan finished looking meaningfully at is men. When no one seemed to be taking the cue to make observations or suggestions, Hogan took the initiative. "I think that there are a few possibilities. One, that Klink has taken leave of himself-"

"Yeah," Newkirk quipped, "'e's 'taken leave' all the way to the loony bin."

Everyone thought it was pretty amusing except for Hogan who was slightly miffed at being cut off in the middle of a sentence. "If I can continue?" Feeling assured that he wasn't going to be interrupted, he went on "Two, this is some sort of weird hangup- an invisible friend, maybe."

Carter raised his hand as if he were in grade school. "Yes, Carter?"

"But if he has an invisible friend, well, wouldn't we have heard about it before now?"

Hogan nodded, "Which is why I'm inclined to dismiss it, but we must have all of our options on the table before we make any decisions. The third possibility is that this person, whomever he is, isn't Klink."

LeBeau gasped, "Sacre Blu! That is incredible. But who would want to pretend to be Klink?"

"And why would anyone want to spy on a Stalag? Besides, how could they find someone who looked so much like Klink.?" Kinchloe asked reasonably. "And so quickly? Klink was himself at roll-call, how could they sneak him out and a replacement in between roll-call and now?"

Hogan sighed, "I know that too." Leading the way back up to the Barracks, he continued. "I don't know what is going on, but I think that we all should keep an eye on Klink." Everyone nodded solemnly before going back up to the Barracks and, most likely, back to their card game.

Hogan stayed behind for a moment, thinking. He was just as mystified as everyone else and he had heard it all first hand. Forget Denmark- there was something rotten at Stalag 13 and Hogan was determined to find out exactly what it was. 

Don't worry, Klink, he thought, I won't keep an eye on you; I'll keep both eyes on you.

***

Following Al's departure, Sam took a moment to collect himself. He finally had a whole name and he knew exactly where and when he was. What he didn't know was why he was there at all and how on Earth it was possible. 1943. So much for the String Theory.

But as there was nothing to be done for it, at least, not at the moment, Sam pushed the matter back in his mind and tried to think. God-Time-Whatever usually sent him to places where people needed his help. Ergo, since he was here, someone needed help. Being 1943, Sam could think of thousands of someones that could use help, but he knew that he probably wasn't here for them. After all, what can one man do? Granted, Sam had performed amazing feats, but this was too much to expect from anyone- even a time traveler.

Besides, the changes he made usually didn't have much of an affect on the larger picture of history. He usually helped individuals make something better of their lives and sometimes he just saved their lives. He couldn't think of anyone specifically that he could help where he was and who he was. He had leaped into a Nazi who ran a little POW camp; what could he change that would stick after he leaped out?

Sam closed his eyes, feeling tired. There really was no point in trying to figure out what his mission was until Ziggy had her data together. He wouldn't know anything until Al returned and who could say when Al would show up again. Al was a good friend, but he never seemed to arrive when Sam wanted him to and when he did, he usually didn't have anything useful to say. 

That's not fair, he thought, Al's there when you really need him. That was true; but that didn't change the fact that Sam was feeling bored out of his mind. He briefly considered picking up the mess he had made in his earlier search for a calendar and rejected the notion quickly. For one thing he had no idea how to organize the papers and for another thing- he just didn't want to do it.

What he did want to do was investigate; look around the camp; find out what, if anything, was happening. Maybe there was some secret for him to unearth or some dirty dealings to put a stop to. Sam frowned slightly. He had the uneasy feeling that perhaps he was getting too used to being the universal good Samaritan. When all of this leaping had started, as far as he could remember, all he wanted was to avoid conflict. He didn't want to fight anyone. Lately, it had been as if there was this part of him that craved the conflicts; the battles of will and fists. Sam wasn't quite sure what it all meant, but he did know that he didn't like the change.

All of which had no bearing on the fact that Sam was getting ready to ignore Al's advice on keeping a low profile. There was work to be done and Sam was more than reasonably certain that none of that work would be in the office. 

But before Sam had a chance to implement his plan of action, there was a knock on the door. Automatically he said, "Come in, Shultz." Sam was at once grateful and annoyed by having enough of the host to be able to identify people. He was grateful because he didn't have to worry about tricking people the host knew into giving him their names. He was annoyed because, as a scientist, he didn't like not being in complete control of his own mind.

The door opened and in stepped a large and plump man in a Sergeant's uniform. Beside him stood Colonel Hogan who smiled broadly and, at least it seemed to Sam, predatorily. 

"Yes, what do you want?"

The Sergeant, Shultz, swallowed and didn't look Sam in the eye. "Colonel Hogan wanted to see you, Herr Commandant."

Sam tried to think of a proper response. On the one hand, he didn't want to talk to Hogan. Hogan suspected something, and while Sam knew that Hogan had no way of knowing what was really going on, Sam couldn't afford a lucky guess. On the other hand, what would it look like to refuse to see him? Wouldn't that make Hogan more suspicious?

These thoughts went through his mind in no more than a second or two. At length, he nodded, "Show him in." 

When he and Hogan were alone, Sam motioned to the chair on the other side of the desk. "Have a seat?" He decided that snarling and unprovoked anger wasn't in character for Klink- at least, judging from Hogan's reaction when he had tried it earlier. Instead, Sam decided to try being a bit calmer and a bit nicer. With luck, it would dissipate what ever suspicions that Hogan might have had. If not, well, maybe Al could be help him with it when he came back. "And what can I do for you?"

***

TO BE CONTINUED

(in the near future)

(with luck)


	4. Questions

(*Author's Note: Anyone else getting tired of these? I just wanted to thank Skybrite Daye for beta reading this chapter. Was that all I wanted to say? Oh, I almost forgot. I also wanted to thank everyone who has reviewed this story so far. Well, I guess that's it.)

***

Al was a proud man; he did not apologize to just anyone- which was why he was surprised to find himself outside of the visitor's room planning on doing just that. To a stranger no less. To a stranger who might be deserving of a little anger . . .

It wasn't fair, he knew, intellectually, to blame a single person for madness of the kind that happened in Germany. Even if it were Hitler sitting in the Waiting room he would have been wrong to leave like he had. And from what he could tell, the man in the Waiting room was hardly Hitler.

But Al was also an emotional man. No matter what one thought about the Nazis and their tactics, emotions would always be high when they were only discussed. Now there was one in the Waiting room. Al was thankful that no one beyond Verbena, Sam and himself knew that- who knew what could happen otherwise? He knew that there were some, even at the project, who would do worse than he had. Much worse.

Looking down at the control pad on the side of the door, Al tried to decide whether to do what he had come down here to do. It would be very easy just to turn around and wait in the control room until Ziggy came up with something for him to tell Sam. It also would have been cowardly and Al was no coward. 

Still, Al could not deny the relief that he felt when his Handlink beeped loudly. Digging it out of his pocket, Al scanned its surface. His relief was short lived, however, as he read the device again, just to make certain that he had made no mistake. Unfortunately, he hadn't.

Al had to leave the matter of the visitor till later; this was much too important to put off. As quickly as he could, he made his way to the imaging chamber. He finally knew what Sam was there for and it couldn't wait.

***

A short while after Al had left, Wilhelm felt very drained. He had tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn't come. Things were finally sorting out in his mind and he remembered almost everything, as far as he could tell. He even had most of those other memories sorted out too, at least, he could no longer confuse any of them with his own. This was one reason that he could not sleep- his mind was too full. 

His stomach growled and reminded him of the other reason that he could not sleep. His mind may have been full, but his belly wasn't. It also didn't appear as if anyone was going to feed him anytime soon. Judging from Al's reaction, Wilhelm doubted whether he would get any visitors any time soon. 

Truth be told, he was lonely. And scared. No harm in admitting that; it was true and he was perfectly justified. Something had happened to his body and to his mind and no one seemed willing to give him any answers. It was enough to make someone sick with worry. Not that he was. At least, he didn't feel to unwell.

All this taken into consideration, Wilhelm decided that he was holding up pretty well. Or, at least, he hadn't gone into a stupor from shock. He had seen such things happen. When he was in the Great War he saw more men lose themselves than he had ever imagined possible and he never wanted to know what it was like. 

At any rate, he would have given anything to have someone to talk to. Any one. Even Al who hadn't taken too well to him the last time. 'Hadn't taken too well' being defined as 'had looked ready to punch someone.' At the moment, even hostile company was better than none at all.

As if in answer to his want, in stepped a young woman whose name he didn't know. Her expression seemed unnaturally blank, as if she were trying to hide something. In her hands she held a tray and while he couldn't quite identify the contents, he was reasonably sure what it contained was food.

"Hello, I don't think that we've met. My name is Wilhelm, what is yours?"

Wordlessly she handed him the tray. Obviously she wasn't going to even bother pretending to be polite. Well, he had been brought up better than that and he had no intention of abandoning his manners just because she had. "Thank you."

She stepped back, turned and looked as if she were about to leave. Then she changed her mind and turned back. She just stood there watching him.

Wilhelm sighed and tried to ignore her. Tentatively he ate, still not quite certain what he was eating, but finding it not entirely disagreeable While he knew, from so may discussions with Hogan . . . Who was Hogan? Looked like he didn't have his all of his memories back after all. Anyway, while he knew that American's weren't known for treating their POW's badly, he got the feeling that he wasn't in a POW prison at all. In that case, all bets were off, as it were. In any case, he just hoped that the meal wasn't actually poisoned or anything equally unpleasant. 

Looking up from his meal, he saw that the woman hadn't moved and her expression hadn't changed. It made him more than a little uncomfortable and more than a bit irritated. She looked at him as if he were some kind of freak; mostly disgust mixed with a little awe and a hint of pity- all in all, it did nothing to improve his quickly souring mood. 

Deciding that he had just as much right to look at her as she had to look at him, for a moment, he stared back. She was tallish, with a curly brown thatch of hair and brown eyes. She looked young, no older than twenty, if that. She wore a lab coat similar to the one that Verbena had worn. He couldn't place what exactly she should be doing, but he figured that whatever she did, it didn't include serving meals. She looked too . . . smart. As if she was a nurse, or maybe even a doctor- while it was uncommon, there were a few lady doctors around.

He handed his tray back to her. "Thank you."

She took it, and again, she didn't answer him. 

Finally, pushed to the end of his limited patience, he snapped, "And what, precisely, do you find so fascinating about me that you feel you have to keep watching me?"

She blinked and turned away, but not fast enough for Wilhelm to miss her tear bright eyes. "I just wanted . . . I don't know what I wanted." She turned back to him, tears threatening to fall, "I just wanted to see what one of you monsters was like." With that, she ran from the room.

Wilhelm sighed. He knew that he was hardly the smartest person in the world, not that he was likely to admit that to anyone, but he could add two and two together and get four. In this case, the first two was when Al had left after learning that he was a Nazi. The second two was when the young woman had said that she wanted to see what one of the "monsters" was like. The four was . . . Well, he wasn't quite sure. Somehow he got the feeling that it wasn't just some very good Allied propaganda making them act that way. But what else could it be?

He had some idea. He knew that the policies that the Fuhrer had made about the Jews bordered on the completely paranoid. He also knew that the Gestapo were not very nice people, an understatement of the case, if anything. He had also heard some disturbing rumors . . .

Which he couldn't let himself think about. Not if he wanted to stay reasonably sane. Besides, talking openly about such things was dangerous and Wilhelm was terrible at keeping secrets. In any event, he had a duty to his country- and he wasn't about to shirk it because of a few unfounded, if unsettling, rumors.

In a mostly futile effort to take his mind off such concerns, Wilhelm started thinking of some questions to ask the next time someone came into the room. He had been kept in the dark for long enough. It was time that he got some answers. 

***

TO BE CONTINUED

(at some later date)

(in the possible future)


	5. Revelations II

***

Unexpectedly, the conversation with Hogan wasn't the question-filled confrontation that Sam had feared. Instead, all Hogan wanted from him was permission to make some Halloween decorations for a party and some materials to make them with. After a suitable number of "no"s, Sam eventually "caved in" and said yes. Hogan had looked more satisfied than he probably should have by the outcome as he left the office with a hasty salute.

While Sam was very pleased that the whole thing had gone off without a hitch, the whole thing had seemed surreal. A prisoner in a POW camp worried about decorations for a holiday that was a month away? It was ridiculous. It was also suspicious.

The thing that seemed the most strange was the way Hogan had acted. He had acted very confident- even stealing some cigars from a humidor that Sam hadn't noticed before then. Sam hadn't said anything because he was just as happy to see them go. Still, it seemed like an odd thing for Hogan to do under the circumstances.

Then there was the roundabout way that Hogan had brought up his bizarre request. He didn't just ask; by alternately asking for impossible things (such as inviting girls to the barracks for the party) and overt flattery (such as calling Sam the "World Renowned Iron Eagle"), he eventually edged what he really wanted into the conversation. Sam had seen it for what it was before Hogan was even halfway through- a con. The only thing that he couldn't understand was why someone would go through so much trouble for such a minor thing. That, and who would be stupid enough to fall for the act in the first place. Well, what could you expect from a drunk Nazi?

In any case, Hogan had his decorations, for all the good that they would do him, and Sam still had no answers. He sighed and wished that Al would finally make a second appearance, maybe with something useful. 

It was then that the Imaging Chamber door opened, and out stepped Al.

Speak of the Devil, Sam thought with a mental smile. "So, Al," he said aloud, "what do you have for me? Did Ziggy figure out why I'm here?"

"Ziggy won't tell us how you got here, if that's what you mean. I bet she just doesn't want to admit that she has no idea; that's what you get for building a computer with Barbara Streisand's ego." Al laughed his false laugh and chewed on his cigar.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "That's not what I meant. I meant, 'What am I here for?'. What am I supposed to do?"

Al stared back at him with sad eyes. "In three days there's going to be an accident."

"I see." When no answer seemed forthcoming, Sam prompted, "What kind of accident?"

"Well, the records aren't very good for this period, so we don't know what actually happened."

"What do you know?" Sam said, starting to feel frustrated with his friend. Why could Al never just say what Sam was there for? Was it to much to ask that he just relay the information without being so melodramatic? 

Al sighed. "You're not going to like this, Sam."

"I already don't like it, Al." and I like it even less because you keep hedging like this, Sam finished silently. He knew that whenever he was in mortal danger, Al would get this way.

"In three days there's going to be an accident, and Colonel Klink dies."

Great. Wonderful. Didn't he have enough problems without the possibility of death added to them? "Why did I leap in to save a Nazi? What else happens?"

"The details are sketchy. Ziggy can't interface too well with foreign computers."

Sam nodded, basically to keep Al talking rather than to actually agree with Al's statement.  
"As far as we can tell, after Klink's death there is a big investigation. I guess that they thought the POWs were responsible because Gestapo thoroughly checked the barracks. From what we can get from the Pentagon- "

"What does the Pentagon have to do with some POW camp?", interrupted Sam. 

Al didn't say anything for a moment as he scanned the data on the Handlink. "During the war, the Pentagon and a few other military organizations in Europe came together and formed an underground in Germany. According to what Ziggy was able to pry from those computers, Stalag 13 was one of the main bases of operation for this underground."

"All right, Al. Stalag 13 is a base for the German underground. For some reason, Klink doesn't seem to be aware of the base's existence, or he is pretending not to be. Then Klink is killed in some sort of accident. What happens after that?"

"Well," Al started, sounding annoyed (probably because he had been interrupted), "when the Gestapo search the barracks, they found a network of tunnels, radio equipment and even some people hidden away." Al paused as if waiting for Sam to say something. When he didn't, Al continued. "The next day, several POWs, including a few members of the underground, are shot for trying to escape." The tone of voice Al had used to say the last part made it clear to Sam that Al didn't believe that they were shot for trying to escape any more he did. 

"What about General Boes? Did you find anything about him?"

Al shook his head. "Nadda. According to Ziggy, Boes doesn't exist."

"Doesn't exist? Well, Al, I guess we have a problem then. Because this man who doesn't exist is coming here."

"I don't know about that. All I know is that Ziggy couldn't find anything. Who knows? Maybe Boes' records were burned or misplaced."

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so, Al. It's too much of a coincidence. Someone who doesn't exist is paying Klink a visit. Then Klink dies in some kind of accident."

Al nodded, "Yeah, it does seem a bit too convenient. But why?"

Sam shrugged, "Maybe Klink knows more than he should, or maybe killing Klink gives them an excuse to do some searching. Or maybe it's a personal vendetta. I want you to get on it, Al. Give me something I can work with."

"I'll see what I can do." 

Sam watched Al leave without actually seeing him go. Sam had a lot to think about and, possibly, not very long to do it. 

***

". . . something that I can work with." Klink's voice sounded tinny over the bug's speaker, but Kinchloe had bigger concerns than sound quality. He looked at Carter, silently asking him whether he had heard the same things that he had. 

Somehow receiving this silent question, Carter nodded. "We better tell the Colonel."

Kinchloe picked up his little black notebook, glad that he hadn't been so incapacitated by what he heard that he couldn't write it down. He knew that while Hogan had heard the first "conversation" himself, he would find this one a bit harder to believe. Besides, it was easier, and safer, for Hogan to read what was said rather than having Kinchloe try to remember it all. "Yes, I think that he'd want to know."

After waiting a few more minutes, in case 'Klink' said something else, Kinchole and Carter left the radio room in search of Colonel Hogan. 

***

Hogan sat in his quarters, thinking about his conversation with Klink. There had been something . . . off about it. He had dealt with Klink the way that he usually did and he had gotten what he had wanted; but it seemed wrong. It was almost like Klink had noticed Hogan's manipulations and had been playing along for Hogan's benefit. It was just another thing to add to the quickly growing list of actions that were out of character for Klink. 

What if this Klink wasn't really Klink? And where was the real Klink if that were so? Hogan felt surprised when he found himself actually worried about that. They were, technically, on opposite sides of the war. Still, that didn't stop Hogan from worrying.

No matter what he said or the way he acted, there were times when he felt genuinely protective of the German. So what if Klink was a bumbling incompetent? He was Hogan's bumbling incompetent. And while Klink was hardly what most people would call a friend, and while he was certainly not under Hogan's command, Hogan couldn't help but feel that he was responsible for him. 

Never mind the fact that Klink's blundering was very useful or that finding another commandant who would be able to take Klink's place would be inconvenient, Hogan did not want something to happen to the guy. There were times when Klink could be a real rat. There were also other times when he seemed to be trying to do the right thing. All in all, Hogan didn't feel that Klink was an evil man; and he certainly didn't think that he deserved to- 

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door. "Come in."

In stepped Carter and Kinchloe, both looking disturbed. 

"What is it?"

Kinchole handed Hogan a small black book. "I think you should read this, sir."

Hogan took the book and started reading Kinchole's hasty script. As he read, he felt a lump in his stomach. So, not only was the man in the commandant's office not Klink, Klink's life was in danger too. "Kinchloe, have you heard anything about this Boes person?" 

Kinchkoe nodded, "He's supposed come here tomorrow. But other than that, I haven't heard anything. Whoever he is, he isn't one of ours."

"What do we do, sir?" 

"I don't know. Whoever this Klink imposter is, he knows a little bit about our operation here. That means that he's got an advantage over us. But it does seem like he wants to help Klink." Hogan paused, collecting his thoughts. He turned to Kinchole. "I want you to contact to underground. See if you can find some information on 'Ziggy' and 'Al'." 

Kinchole saluted and quickly exited.

"Carter, I want you to get some of the guys together and clean Klink's office. See if you can find anything suspicious."

"Yes, sir."

"But first," Hogan said, stopping Carter before he could leave, "I want you to get me Newkirk. We can't let this business with Klink get in the way of the mission."

"Yes, sir." Carter hesitated for a second, waiting in case Hogan had anything more to add. When he didn't, Carter too left.

Hogan sighed. Why was nothing ever easy around here?

***   
  
TO BE CONTINUED

(sometime along)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Found Out

***

After sending Newkirk to Hogan, as he was instructed, Carter slowly made his way to Klink's office. He was confused- not that this in itself was unusual, Carter was often confused, but this time he really did have a reason. 

When Hogan had first brought the 'Klink Problem' to their attention, he had said that Klink was talking to himself. But when Carter and Kinchloe listened in on Klink, Carter had heard two voices. One was unfamiliar and one was Klink's. Klink had sounded strange. It seemed as if it wasn't really Klink's voice at all, and at the same time it was. Very strange. 

And that wasn't even the real reason that he was so confused. The other voice (whose name was Al?) had talked about things that Carter had never heard of. Who was Barbara Streisand? What was a computer? Then there was all of the talk about the future. The voice talked as if Klink's death and the discovery of the underground had already happened. What did it all mean? 

He was also concerned. Why was Hogan still going forward with the mission? Didn't Kinchole write down the stuff about the people being found in the tunnels? And why hadn't either of them said anything about the people who were going to be killed when the underground was discovered?

Carter didn't know and he had no more time to ponder it. He was finally at Klink's office. Thinking up what he was going to say to him, Carter knocked on Klink's door.

A second later he heard a "Come in."

After taking a breath, Carter walked inside and shut the door. Then he turned to face Klink and promptly forgot to breathe. This had to be the 'Sam' that the other voice had mentioned. Sitting in the Commandant's chair, wearing the Commandant's clothes, was a man that Carter had never seen before. The man was much younger than Klink, with green eyes. The man's hair was brown with a stripe of grey in the front- How could Hogan confuse this man with Klink? 

Sam rose, concerned, "Are you alright?" 

Carter nodded slowly. The voice coming out of Sam's mouth was the Commandant's voice and it wasn't too. Just like before, on the bug. 

Sam sat down, "Have a seat."

Carter sat in the chair across the desk, feeling very nervous. How could Hogan have confused this man for Klink?, he asked himself. Sam looked at him expectantly and Carter swallowed. "The Colonel asked me to clean your office."

Sam looked surprised. "Clean my office?" He glanced at the papers littering the desk and floor. "Tell Hogan that I appreciate his concern, but it isn't necessary." 

Carter stared at Sam intently, debating whether or not to let him know that he knew who he really was- or at least, who he wasn't. This Sam had sounded like he wanted to help. Maybe with the Colonel helping too, Sam could do what he came here to do. But who knew what Sam might do if he knew that Carter knew? Maybe I should talk to the Colonel first, he thought, maybe he can tell me what to do. 

"Is that all you came here for?"

Carter almost nodded, but stopped. "Actually," he started, having made his decision, "I want to ask you a question."

Sam looked wary. "And what question is that?"

"Is your name Sam?"

***

"Is your name Sam?"

Sam stared at him, the question flying from his mouth before he had a chance to stop it, "How did you know my name?"

The man looked at him and smiled, "So I was right; you are Sam." 

Finding no words forthcoming, Sam nodded mutely.

"I didn't think that you were Al, I mean, Al doesn't sound like Klink the way you do. Besides, he kept calling you Sam so it was pretty simple, you see?"

Sam's confusion must have shown on his face as the man explained. "The underground has a bug in this office. I listened in." 

"You could hear Al?"

The man nodded. "Yeah. But there's one thing that I don't understand. How come the Colonel thought you were Klink? I mean, you don't look like him at all."

What to do? This man obviously could see him and, at least, hear Al- was he insane? Retarded? Similar brain waves? It didn't really matter why it was possible, like everything else about this leap, all that mattered was that it was. It would be pointless to continue to claim to be Klink when this person could tell that he wasn't. But what would happen to the time line if he told this man the truth?

But before he had a chance to begin explaining the imagining chamber door opened and in stepped Al in all of his finery. At least it was tailored, it seemed to Sam that it had to be- no clothes maker in his right mind would create that particular concoction of fuchsia and green pinstripe. The man's eyes widened and he quickly got up from his chair.

"Where did you come from!"

Al had that puzzled worried look that he always wore when he found out that someone besides Sam knew that he was there. "He can see me?"

The man looked at Al strangely. "How could anyone not?"

Al sounded alarmed. "He can hear me too?"

Sam sighed. It seemed that the leap had gotten even more complicated. "Yes he can, Al. And he can see me." He looked at Al and put on his most serious face. "We have to tell him."

"No we don't." Al gestured wildly and his voice rose with every word he spoke, "Sam, you do want to leap, don't you? You don't want to stay here for the rest of your life, do you!?"

"Of course not. But we can use all the help we can get. Besides, what do you want me to with him?" Sam said, pointing to the man. Or , at least, where the man had been sitting. 

***

Sometime before the end of the 'discussion' between Al and Sam, Carter had snuck out of the room. He had to tell someone. He had to tell someone because he was deathly afraid that he had gone crazy. People don't appear out of thin air. Especially not wearing fusha. What if he didn't see Klink as Klink because there was something wrong with him and not with everyone else? What if he imagined hearing that other voice on the bug? What if- 

It was then that he ran right into Sergeant Shultz, knocking them both down. 

***

Shultz sat on the ground for a moment, feeling dazed. When he had recovered himself, he glared at Carter. The annoyed tirade died in his throat. Carter looked more than a little winded- he looked pale and frightened. Shultz stood and helped the shaky Carter to his feet. Knowing, knowing mind you, that this had to do with some sort of monkey business, he asked what was wrong.

Carter looked at Shultz. "You won't believe me."

He nodded. "You are probably right, but why don't you tell me anyway?" He gently started to lead Carter back to his barracks as Carter began his tale. 

***

TO BE CONTINUED . . . 

(Sometime soon)

(I think)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Follow Up

***  
Verbena Beeks made it to the visitor's room just in time to see a lab coated figure dash out of it. She had a good idea who the figure had been and she sighed; as if she didn't have enough problems. Such as how it had been learned who the visitor was. That, and what would become of that information when and if it became common knowledge. She wondered what the project's creditors would think if they knew that there was a Nazi in the waiting room. 

She shook her head. She certainly didn't plan on treating him differently because he was a Nazi. At least, she thought, he wasn't in charge of a concentration camp. She wasn't sure where her cool professionalism would have been then. But, as it stood, she was in charge of the mental health of the visitor, be it an abused house wife or a Nazi soldier, and she planned on doing her job.

The first thing that Verbena noticed about the visitor after she entered the room was how quiet he was. Sitting on the cot, he bore the look of a man who was weighing his options carefully. He sighed, obviously noticing her presence, although he didn't seem inclined to actually look in her direction.

"So, you finally made it back. How wonderfully nice of you."

He sounded very sarcastic, but he was allowed a little sarcasm, she figured with a touch of guilt. She really should have tried harder to get back here. "How are you feeling?"

Now he did look at her, his expression one of frustration. "How am I supposed to feel? I've been taken prisoner. I've been interrogated and gawked at." He stood up and glared at her. "I'm also tired of not getting any answers to my questions. I've been very patient so far, and I think that I am entitled to some kind of explanation."

"What do you want to know?" She asked, knowing full well that there was much that she couldn't tell the visitor. 

The visitor looked surprised, as if he had expected a bit more of a fight than that. In fact, he seemed a little off guard. "Well, I . . ." He swallowed before continuing. "I'd like to know why I'm here." 

She considered. She didn't want to out and out lie- that wasn't fair to anyone. But she also couldn't tell him the truth. The possible damage to the timeline could be devastating if the visitor remembered anything about his time here. She doubted that he'd believe the truth anyway. 

"You can't tell me, can you?" Obviously, she had been taking longer with her internal debate than she had thought.

"No."

He nodded to himself and sighed. "You probably can't tell me how I know your name either, Verbena." It wasn't really a question.

"No."

The visitor closed his eyes, as if trying to make a difficult decision. "Maybe you can help me understand something then."

"Maybe." She agreed warily, not wanting to be trapped by her own words.

He opened his eyes. "Maybe you can help me understand why two of the three people who've come in here have acted as if I were the Devil. Or why that young lady who was just in here wanted to know what "us monsters" were like or why Al looked like he was going to punch me. Do you think you can tell me that?" Not waiting for an answer, he looked away from her and started to pace. "Because I don't understand. I've tried to be a good officer and a gentleman. I do what I can for my country. I've tried all of my life to be a good person, and what do I get? People running out of the room in tears." It seemed as though he was talking more to himself than he was to her. "I'm not very popular at home- but everyone knows me there. I know a little about most of you- from those memories in my head- but how are you supposed to know anything about me?"  


She chose her words carefully. "It's not you exactly. It's what you stand for."

He stopped and stared at her. "'What I stand for'?" He echoed her words hollowly.

Nodding, she continued. "For them, you are a Nazi first and a person after." 

The visitor didn't seem surprised. "I had already figured as much, I just wanted to hear someone say it. So I 'm a Nazi." He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, "I know no one has any reason to love Nazis; sometimes I have no reason to love Nazis. But I don't understand what you've heard to make you all hate us so much. It's like 'Nazi' 's another word for evil to you."

Verbena stared at him in shock. Was it really possible? Did this man have no idea what the Nazis were doing in 1943? How naive could he be? But then, to be fair, the Nazi's hadn't exactly advertised the Death Camps- although, the public view on Jews and everyone else who would join in their fate was painfully clear. It seemed inconceivable that he shouldn't have so much as an inkling of an idea about the truth of the matter.

Maybe he did know about it and didn't consider it evil. That was possible- after all, there had to have been some people who thought that they were doing what was best for Germany, people who enjoyed their "work". While she didn't think it was true, at least not in the visitor's case, how could she be sure? She had talked with him for less than an hour. He didn't seem like an evil man, but that didn't mean anything.

And even if he didn't know, how much could she tell him? How much did she want to tell him? Some people tended to take responsibility for things even when there was no way, as a single person, to prevent them. The Holocaust was a great evil to be atoned for- and the last thing she needed was a suicidal visitor who wanted to take it all on himself. Did she really want to take that sort of chance with the visitor's psychological welfare?

"It is another word for evil to us, but I can't tell you why," she said, deciding to make a compromise. "All I can tell you is that we do have a reason and unless you can find it yourself, I can't explain it to you."

"So let me see if I understand you. You can't tell me anything at all about anything?"

She nodded. That much was certainly true.

Plopping himself back on the cot, he made an obvious effort to keep his frustration out of his voice. "Can you give me something to do then? A book? Some cards? Something?" 

She smiled, feeling more glad than she wanted to admit about the change of subject. Of course, anything that the visitor was given would have to be screened for copyright date and content; but it would be relatively easy to arrange. Most visitors, after getting over their initial fears of imprisonment, death or alien abduction, would complain of being bored. She found it helped them feel more comfortable if they were given something to take their minds off of their troubles.

"Yes. I'll send some things down in a little while." She looked down at her watch. "I would stay longer, Colonel- "

"Please," he said mildly, "call me Wilhelm."

"I would stay longer, Wilhelm, but there's something that I have to do."

His smile looked a little forced, but it was a smile. "Go ahead, leave me. Just remember to come back."

"I will."

With that she walked out the door, now in search of that lab coated figure. She had an idea who it was and where she could be found.  
  
***

Sammy Jo felt stupid. It was not a sensation that she was very familiar with or liked very much and right now, she felt very stupid. What did she think she was going to accomplish by going in there? What did she expect to see, anyway?

All she had seen was an understandably irritated man and all that she had accomplished was to completely embarrass herself. Her face still felt hot as she entered the break room.

The break room was empty. It seemed to Sammy a clear indication that there really was a God. She hastily grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and wiped her eyes. Why was she crying? She honestly could not figure out why this whole thing was bothering her so much. It wasn't as if she were Jewish or knew anyone who was directly involved in the Holocaust. It just didn't make any sense.

But there she was, hiding out in the break room, drying her eyes and praying fervently to whatever God that would listen that no one would come in until she had calmed down a little.

However, it didn't appear that any gods were interesting in answering her prayer. When Verbena walked into the room, Sammy knew any hope of pretending that this entire mess had never happened was futile. Sammy slapped on a "hopefully" convincing false smile and tried to sound casual.

"Hello, Verbena. What brings you here?"

Verbena looked at her calculatingly, obviously not buying it for a moment. "I think you know."

Sammy let the smile slip and sighed. She wasn't a good enough actor to fool Verbena. 

Verbena sat down and motioned that she should join her. "What happened?"

After taking her seat, Sammy stared down at the floor, unable to look Verbena in the eyes. "I just made a fool of myself- that's all." When she was greeted with silence she continued, knowing that she had not truly answered Verbena's question. "I went to see the visitor. I know that I shouldn't have," she said quickly to forestall any criticism that Verbena was likely to offer until after she had finished her thought. "But when I found out what the visitor was, I couldn't help myself. I wanted to see." 

"What did you want see?"

Sammy gently tore at the tear stained tissue in her hands. "I wanted to see what made this guy good enough for Dr. Beckett to risk his life for. I mean, he's a Nazi- one of those psychos that you always hear about on the History Channel. Why should he be saved?" Almost forgetting that she wasn't alone, she thought aloud. "I felt bad thinking that way- I'm not God, I can't just arbitrarily decide who lives and who dies. So I went down there to justify myself." She trailed off as she noticed that her hands were empty. She looked down and saw tiny scraps of the tissue littering the floor under her feet.

Verbena seemed to take this as an opening. "But you couldn't justify it." It was not a question.

Sammy only shook her head.

"Would it have been easier if he had horns and a pitch fork?"

Sammy felt herself smile a little. As ridiculous as that image was, she had been expecting something like that. She told Verbena as much and was relived to hear the psychologist chuckle in response.

"If only it were that easy, Sammy." Abruptly serious, she continued. "But it isn't. Judging is something that must be done and it is something that is hard to do. No one is well equipped for the task, but everyone wants to do it."

Sammy didn't answer. What could she say to that? It was true.

"You were wrong, I know it and you know it. The question is, what are you going to do about it?"  
She could tell by the way Verbena asked the question that she already knew the answer. 

Sammy also knew what that answer was and she didn't think that she could do it. "I can't go back in there." When she received no answer she looked up to see a smiling Verbena.

"Did I say you should?" Smiling wider she brushed away the question before Sammy could answer it. Her tone grew serious. "Sammy, you have to do what you think is right. I can't force you to do anything and I don't want to. You have to figure this one out on your own and I think you're on the right track."

Sammy sighed, knowing that she had lost. "I don't know, Verbena. But I'll think about it."

Verbena put a hand on her shoulder. "That's all I ask." 

*** 


	8. Meanwhile . . .

***

As the words came out of Carter's mouth, he knew that he was saying too much. Shultz may have been one of the "good" krauts, but that didn't mean that Carter could trust him enough to tell him about the bug in Klink's office or about the mission. But he was. He couldn't stop himself. It was as if a dam had broken loose in Carter's mind. 

It was hard to tell if Shultz was even listening to him at all. Shultz was huffing with exertion and his cheeks were red. After their collision, the German had started half carrying him and half walking him to . . . Well, Carter wasn't quite sure where they were going. He would have asked, but he was too busy talking about things that he shouldn't be talking about.

". . . Then this guy appears out of nowhere, I think he was Al. Anyway, he doesn't actually come out of nowhere. There was this blue rectangle that he stepped out of. And he was wearing fuchsia."

"Fuchsia." Shultz grunted. It seemed as though Shultz was listening after all.

Carter shook his head and looked up at the puffing German with a lopsided smile. "After Sam and Al started arguing, I split. Then I ran into you."

Shultz spared him a glance before looking forward again. 

"You don't believe me."

Shultz stopped and looked Carter in the eyes. Then, sounding more serious than Carter had ever heard him, he asked, "Do you really want me to believe you?"

Considering it for a moment, Carter looked down. "I guess not."

Shultz nodded solemnly and started walking again.

"Where are we going, Shultz?"

"We are going to the barracks. You have obviously spent too much time in this cold air, yes?"

Carter smiled, feeling just a little less shaky than before. "Yeah, I guess I have."

***

After depositing Carter at the Barracks and leaving him in the care of his fellow prisoners, Shultz made his way through the compound. He was troubled and he couldn't keep his mind still. 

Despite his occasional- alright, more than occasional- bumbling Shultz was not stupid. He was sometimes insensible, at times irresponsible, and once in awhile he was gullible. But not stupid. He had sense enough to know that the prisoners of Stalag 13 weren't your normal prisoners. He wasn't completely certain what they were up to most of the time, but he did know that they were always up to something.

Not that he ever let on. He knew what would happen if he relayed his suspicions to the Gestapo and they proved right. He knew and he had no desire to be responsible for it. Besides, with the Gestapo, it was much safer to play the fool in general. They kept an eye on smart men. Smart men were dangerous. But stupid men? They were to be tolerated as long as they were Aryan. At least, until the war was won.

Shultz knew this from his many trips to the tavern. Gestapo men liked to drink as much as anyone else and liquor always loosened tongues. The things that he heard them say made him shiver inside. He didn't like to think about it. And ever since this war had started, he didn't like thinking in general. 

But now he was thinking again. 

There were three possibilities. Carter finally broke under the pressure of a prisoners life. Carter was trying to fool or confuse him for some reason. Or, Carter was telling the truth. There were obvious problems with all three possibilities.

The possibility that Carter was crazy didn't seem right. Despite what he had said, he had sounded like himself. But then, Carter had always seemed a little . . . off. Even the other prisoners seemed to think so.

The possibility that Carter was trying to fool or confuse him also wasn't right. Yes, Shultz was confused, but what would Carter gain from it? The story was too outlandish to trick someone into believing it; too unrealistic to spread suspicion or make a rumor. What good would it do for anyone to have Shultz question the sanity of the prisoners? 

Then there was the possibility that Carter was telling the truth . . . 

Shultz shook his head. That thought in itself was crazy. Obviously he had been hanging around the prisoners too much- their monkey shines were starting to rub off on him. That must be it.

Feeling a little better, he walked up to the Commandant's office. The Big Shot always expected him to be within shouting distance and it was best that he wasn't disappointed. In any event, it would help Shultz to keep his mind from thinking so much.

He stopped when he saw a long staff car drive through the gates. Moving as fast as he could without looking like he was hurrying, he went to the gates to greet whomever had come to see the Big Shot this time.

*** 

As the driver drove to the rickety gates of the compound, she felt her lips curve up into a sneer of disgust. The place brought a new meaning to the word boonies. She looked to her companion. "Are you sure this is the place?"

Her companion smiled in something close to pleasure. "Positive."

***

Sam was not always right. His intuition was not failsafe, nor was it fool proof. He knew that. Still, was it really asking too much for Al to trust him on something? For once?

"No."

"Al-"

"No!"

"Al-"

"NO!"

"Al, would you just listen to me for one second!" 

Al glared and threw up his hands in frustrated disgust. "Fine, talk." He turned away and spoke in his typical Sam-I'm-Not-Very-Happy-With-You-Right-Now voice. "Just don't think that you'll change my mind."

Sam felt the sigh come out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Al, all I want you to do is find out who he is."

"But he can see me, Sam."

Sam seemed to recall having this problem before. "Can't you just change your frequency or something?"

"That won't help if he's crazy or retarded."

"Well," Sam said, he voice tinged with both sarcasm and frustration. "We won't know that until you find out who he is."

Al's glare darkened. "Fine, I'll go." Hastily jabbing the handlink with more force than seemed necessary, Al disappeared.

Sam closed his eyes. He hated when Al did that. Al was his best friend- his only friend for the last . . . how many years?, but sometimes, Al would just act so unreasonable and stubborn. Sam's frustration usually won over his common sense and Al would be mopey for most of the leap. As if he didn't have enough problems with this leap already.

Sam slouched in the desk chair, feeling more tired than he really was. He found himself looking at the drink he had poured earlier and found himself wanting it. He wondered for a moment whether the host was actually to blame for this want or not. Grabbing the glass, he decided that he really did not give a damn.

He had lifted the glass up to his lips and was in the process of taking a sip when there was a knock on the door. It startled him so badly that the liquor in his mouth went down his windpipe and the liquor in the glass ended up on the front of his uniform. Choking, he managed a gasping "Come in".

Within a few moments Sam had recovered himself. He looked up to see the fat sergeant and a man he did not recognize in a Gestapo uniform. The Sergeant made a hasty salute. "This is General Boes, Herr Commandant."

General Boes was not young. His neck was sagging with age and he had many deep set wrinkles around his milky blue eyes. While his face was set in a oddly blank expression, Sam could tell that this was a man who smiled a lot. At least, he had many "laugh lines" marking his face.

"Welcome to Stalag 13." Sam stood and saluted. Luckily, he had been able to stop himself from offering his hand for a handshake instead. "I wasn't expecting you so early."

The general regarded Sam with an almost undefinable, but definitely calculating, expression in his eyes. "What you were expecting is irrelevant, Klink." His voice was strangely mocking and the slight smile on his face seemed very much out of place. 

Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, Sam searched for something to say. Finally finding it, he tried to make his voice as casual as possible and his smile look genuine. "I'm sure that you are tired after your long trip." Realizing that he had failed on both the voice and the smile, he pressed on, turning his attention to Shultz. "Why don't you show General Boes to the guest quarters?"

Shultz looked a little surprised. "Guest quarters?"

Sam felt his face scrunch up into a slightly pleading, but mostly desperate expression. 

The light dawned in the sergeant's eyes and he saluted. "Yes, Herr Commandant!"

As they left, Sam couldn't help but feel a shudder. His intuition wasn't always right, but he did trust it. And right now, it was telling him that General Boes was dangerous. 

***

Newkirk's game wasn't going well. He wasn't sure if Lebeau noticed or not, and at the moment, he didn't really care. He was worried. He glanced at Carter. He looked a little better than he had when Shultz had brought him in. 

Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to his cards. At least, he tried to. While he had never actually said it, he did care about the kid. He reminded Newkirk of the little brother he never had. The kid got on his nerves every now and then, but he did like him. If something happened to him, he didn't know what he'd do.

"Why are you here?"

Newkirk looked at Carter oddly. "Well, it's not because of the weather, I can tell you that."

Carter shook his head. "I wasn't talking to you."

Newkirk was dimly aware of Lebeau slowly putting down his cards. "Then who are you talking to?" Lebeau asked.

Carter stared at them as if they had gone insane. "Can't you see him?" When they didn't answer, he continued, voice incredulous. "How can you not? He's wearing fuchsia!" 

"Non. I don't see anything."

Carter turned away from them to stare some place near the foot of the table that they sat at. "Why can't they see you?" He nodded in understanding before turning to face them again.. "He says that you don't have the right kind of brain waves."

"Really?" Newkirk tilted his head towards the Colonel's room. 

Lebeau nodded and quickly left, hopefully, to go fetch the Colonel- maybe he'd know what to do. 

"My Name? I'm Andrew Carter . . . Yes, I can still see you."

Newkirk was now more than worried. Carter was talking to someone who wasn't there. First Klink and now Carter. Was this some sort of disease? Was it catching? "Who are you talking to, mate?"

"His name is Al." 

***

Walking through the compound, she couldn't stop herself from smiling. At last, she thought to herself, an easy one.

***


	9. Confrontation

Al looked down at the handlink, unhappy but not surprised at Ziggy's theory. He had been afraid of this. He looked at the young man, Andrew Carter, before him and debated whether or not to tell him. He spared a look to Andrew's friend who seemed very concerned about the young man's sanity. If Al had been in his place, he was sure that he would feel the same way. 

"His name is Al."

Al flinched. He hated it when people other than Sam knew he was around. 

"Who's Al?"

Andrew looked at Al for an answer. Giving the young man the hairy eyeball, Al sighed to himself. Well, at least it couldn't get any worse.

He belatedly remembered that you should never say that things couldn't be worse- they always could be.

"That's what I'd like to know. Actually, I'd like to know a couple things."

Al spun around and stared at the man standing in the doorway. Colonel Robert Hogan looked tired and unamused. Al found himself very happy that he was a hologram. 

Andrew smiled. "Hi, sir."

Hogan didn't return the smile. "I want an explanation and I want one now."

"About what, sir?"

"About what the hell happened in Klink's office!"

Andrew looked surprised. "How do you know about that?" Then he seemed to realize the answer to his own question. "Oh, you were listening in."

"Yes, and I'd like to know what you know about this mess."

***

As Carter told his tale, he noticed with growing unease that the Colonel's expression never seemed to change. At least, it didn't until the very end. Then, his frown deepened.

"And you didn't think to share this with the rest of us."

"You believe me, sir?" Carter winced a little at how hopeful that sounded. *Who are you trying to convince, Carter?* He shook the thought away. At a time like this, the last thing that he needed to be doing was talking to himself.

Hogan sighed, looking weary. "With all the strange things that happen around here, Carter, what choice do I have?"

Carter felt a measure of relief- at least his commander didn't think he was crazy . . . well, not any crazier than usual. He almost felt like hugging the man, but he decided that the Colonel wouldn't appreciate it. He settled for a quiet "Thank you, sir."

"I could not find . . . oh, there you are, mon Colonel." Lebeau looked around at the other people in the room before focusing his attention on the Colonel. "I take it you already know."

Hogan nodded. "Lebeau, go get Kinch." He turned to Carter. "Tell him what you told me. Newkirk, I want you to put this mission on hold until we find out what's going on around here."

"What are you going to do?" Newkirk asked as he came to his feet.

"I think it's time I had a chat with this 'Sam'."

***

As for Sam, things were going surprisingly good, considering the circumstances. General Boes seemed content to stay out of his hair, which, in his book, was very good. Sam had a strange feeling about that man. If forced to describe the feeling, he would have to say something alone the lines of 'bad vibes'. During the initial tour that the General insisted on going on, Sam noticed every now and then the General would stare at him, as if measuring him up somehow. And judging the look on the General's face, 'Klink' didn't measure up well at all. 

Not that being underestimated was a problem. Sometimes it was better that an opponent think he was dumber than he really was. Of course, he had no real evidence that the General was indeed his opponent--

Knocking. Yet another person was knocking on that door. Sam could really get to hate that. "Come in!" He only hoped that he sounded more civil than he felt.

***

Hogan walked into the Commandant's office with a confident swagger that he didn't really feel. Klink sat at his desk and looked at him curiously. "Yes, what do you want?"

Feeling a certain measure of doubt creeping on him, despite what he had heard on the bug and from Carter, Hogan put on his most charming face. "I just wanted to meet the famous Sam."

Klink stared at him, looking for a moment as if he were going to deny it before closing his eyes in surrender. "I guess there's no point in trying to fool you any longer."

Hogan couldn't deny that he was a little surprised. "So, it's true?"

Klink- Sam nodded and stood, looking Hogan in the eyes. "I want you all to know that I'm here to help. Three days from now-"

"Klink's going to die and so are some of the members of the underground."

Sam looked dumbfounded. "How . . ." He shook his head, "Never mind."

"Look," Hogan began,"Believe it or not, I don't want Klink to die any more than you do, and we certainly don't want to see anything happen to the underground. Maybe we can help each other."

Sam seemed to consider it. "I don't know. I mean, I don't know what you can do. I don't even know where the danger is coming from- much less how I can keep it from happening at this point." He closed his eyes. "But then, I don't see what choice I have."

Hogan smiled his first genuine smile all day. "I knew you would see things my way."

***

She had come to the fool's office and was about to knock when she heard voices. She put her ear to the door and tried to listen in. 

". . . famous Sam."

". . . here to help. . . "

". . . Klink's going to die. . . "

She pulled her head away with a jerk. This was bad. This was so bad. This was . . .

She smiled a cruel smile. This was perfect. Getting rid of that meddling time traveler would definitely get her re-promoted- it would certainly get her in with Lothos. Oh, her plans would have to be altered a little, but it would definitely be worth it- if for no other reason than to see the look on Boy Scout's face when he found out who was responsible.


	10. Tension

(*Author's note: I'm back again! Sorry for the looooong delay, but things have been very busy here. I've been accepted to Keene State College (Yay for me!) and there has been loads of paper work to do. Hopefully now I'll have more time to work on this baby. Anyway, on to the story.)

***

Al had arrived while Sam was in the process of revealing his true identity and mission to Colonel Hogan. To say that Al was less than pleased about this latest development would have been an understatement of epic proportion. He coughed loudly to get Sam's notice.

"I see you're back, Al." Sam gestured to Hogan. "Colonel Hogan, I would like you to meet Al."

Ignoring Hogan, the irate hologram focused both his attention and ire at the leaper. 

"What were you thinking?!" Not giving Sam a chance to answer, he continued. "Do you want to stay here forever?!"

Sam looked pained and for a moment Al regretted being so rough on him. 

"Al, I had no choice- what was I supposed to say?"

"I don't know," Al huffed, still angry and worried over his friend's fate. "But you don't know what this'll do to the time line- you don't know how this'll effect your leaping. You might get stuck here."

"I know, and I'm sorry, Al, but I didn't know what else I could do." Sam smiled. "Besides, we need all the help we can get."

Al nodded, accepting Sam's apology, although he was not completely mollified. Sam could be so frustrating sometimes. He always took chances with his life, his leaping and the time line. It worried and angered Al to no end that Sam never seemed to care about himself. 

Al turned around and looked into the confused face of Colonel Hogan. Hogan obviously couldn't see him. His eyes seemed to be searching for a sign of Al's presence. Al was irrationally grateful to the powers that be that at least someone here couldn't see him.

"So, Al," Sam started, "do you have anything new for me?"

Al started to say no until the squealing of the hand link interrupted. He read over the new information feeling decidedly unhappy at the new turn of events. "According to Ziggy, history's changing."

Sam looked startled. "But I haven't done anything yet."

"Except for telling everyone who you really are." Al said sarcastically. Before Sam had a chance to say something in his defense, Al waved it off. "Anyway, according to Ziggy, whatever was supposed to kill Klink has moved up to tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? How does he get killed? Do you have any idea at all?"

Al shook his head wearily. "Nadda. All we can find is what happens afterward. Although, now, when the underground is discovered, they don' find anyone besides prisoners in the tunnels. But Colonel Hogan and a fair share of his men still die."

"I guess that's something." Sam sighed and rubbed his head, obviously developing a headache. 

"Look, Sam, why don't I leave you to explain all this. There's something that I need to do."

Sam nodded and Al called to Gooshie. "Center me on Andrew Carter!"  
  


***

Wilhelm sighed yet again, wishing he had a watch to tell him that not as much time had passed as he thought must have. It would have been nice to be able to tell with

certainty whether he had been waiting hours for the eventual return of Verbena or if it had only been minutes. 

That was another bothersome thing that he could complain to Verbena about when she got back (whenever that was going to be). He had no idea what time it was. The room had no windows and the light hadn't changed in any way since he was aware of himself being here. He had no way to judge the time, the day, the season- anything. 

It made everything seem even more unreal than it already felt. How long had he been awake now? He didn't feel tired and, taking into consideration what sort of day (night?) he'd been having- he probably should have felt sleepy. But, while the confrontations and the memory loss (and gain) had been draining, the boredom left him with a sort of manic energy that no amount of pacing or trying to sleep could dispel.

After awhile, he simply sat on the bed again, trying to relax as best he could while he waited for something to happen. He was still doing that when the door hissed open. He looked up, hoping that Verbena had returned as she had promised. He felt his face fall ever so slightly when he saw who stood in the doorway.

It was that same unpleasant woman who had come to . . . visit him before. In place of a food tray, she held a paper bag, which she clutched tightly, her knuckles threatening to turn white. She looked so nervous that the flippant remark he was going to make died in his throat. 

She looked at him and tried a shaky smile. "Hi."

"Hello," he replied evenly. While still feeling a bit miffed by her earlier attitude, manners dictated that he should still hear her out. At least she no longer looked outright hostile- she actually appeared to be somewhat sheepish.

She looked down at the floor, as if, now that she was here, she didn't quite know how to proceed. "I-I know that we got off to kind of a bad start." She gave a sort of half laugh, shaking her head a little. "That's a bit of an understatement." She gave her head a curt shake and stared him in the eyes. "I came down here to apologize. I was wrong to treat you like that."

Wilhelm was very surprised. Of all the things he expected to hear from this woman, an apology wasn't one of them. He nodded slowly, unsure what to say.

After the pause lengthened into an uncomfortable silence, she sighed and handed him the bag she held. He looked at its contents, cards and books and a few other things, and felt his brow crinkle in question. "Just some stuff Verbena said you wanted." She turned to walk away. 

"Wait."

She turned back to face him, looking confused. 

"What is your name?" 

"Sammy Jo Fuller." 

"Well, Sammy," he said as he riffled through the bag, looking for the cards he had seen earlier. Finally finding them, he pulled them out of the bag and giving Sammy what he hoped was a friendly smile, he said, "Do you play poker?"

She smiled back at him and nodded.  
  
***  
(TO BE CONTINUED AT SOME LATER DATE)


	11. Some Reservations

(*Author's note: I'm not dead! And I have a new chapter. I had a while ago, but I couldn't get a hold of my Beta reader. I still haven't been able to get in touch with my beta, but I figured that five months between postings was a little more than I wanted to do. Anyway, SkyBright Daye, if you are reading this, could you please give me e-mail? Thank you all for your patience.)

  
  


Zoey waited impatiently for her observer's return. She wondered how he would react if he knew that the man who had single handedly destroyed her career was here to destroy his as well. The thought brought a smile to her face - her observer deserved to be taken down a peg or two. Not that she was going to let that happen, of course- she had to have her priorities straight, after all.

All of which was irrelevant because she had a plan. One to rid herself of the boy scout and to (hopefully) restore her rightful place. She had worked hard to get where she had been and she had suffered all sorts of torments on the way down. She'd be damned if she didn't extract the price of her pain from Dr. Beckett's hide. 

***  
  


After convincing Hogan that he would contact him as soon as he had any word, Sam slumped down in his chair- alone again. It was just as well; he had enough to think about with out having to entertain company. 

To say that he was concerned would not do his feelings justice. He had a major problem and he wasn't sure what he could do about it. In less than one day, he'd been thrown outside of his own lifetime, been discovered and had been told that there was a good chance that he was going to die. And now he was going to die sooner.

Why had the date moved up? That was really the question, wasn't it? Like he had told Al, he hadn't even done anything yet. 'Except telling everyone who you really are,' said a voice in his head that sounded remarkably like his friend. Perhaps he had been a little hasty in revealing himself (not that it would have mattered in the end, but maybe he could have tried harder), and maybe he shouldn't have shared so much with Colonel Hogan. But it was really too late to do anything about those things now anyway.

So, what did it all mean? He realized that it meant that, for one, what had happened to Klink had been no accident. Considering that he had done nothing to change history, the idea that Klink would suddenly die from, presumably, the same exact accident on a different day was ridiculous. And, more importantly, almost impossible. 

As far as Sam could see, this meant two things: one, that whatever had happened to Klink hadn't been an accident, which meant that he was going to be murdered, and two, for some reason that wasn't in the original history, the party responsible decided to move things up. And why would they want to do that unless . . .

They had heard him. 

Which meant that either someone had overheard his conversation with Colonel or one of Hogan's men was going to be responsible. The only thing that seemed odd about that was the idea that whomever heard him actually believed what they had heard, unless just hearing that they knew the plot was going to happen was enough to scare them into action. 

Either way, Sam would definitely have to be more careful about what he said to his unwanted ally. While he didn't think Hogan himself was responsible, really, the less he knew about the project and the leap, the better things would be for everyone. 

He sighed and slumped down further in his chair. Why couldn't things just go smoothly for once?  
  


***  
  


Al found Andrew Carter in the main room of Barracks Two. He was playing cards with one of the men from before, Newwork?, and another man that Al hadn't seen before. It looked like they were playing poker and Andrew had a terrible poker face- his smile was wide and his eyes were as bright as a candle.

Al watched him for while before making his decision. He looked at the read out on the handlink and sighed. He wouldn't tell the kid about his condition after all. It really would do no good for anyone. The drugs that could fix the chemical imbalance in his brain that made it possible to see Al wouldn't be invented in years yet and certainly nothing could be done to help him where he was. 

And why worry the kid when first, nothing could be done and second, he seemed to be getting on well enough without knowing. It wasn't as if his condition was life threatening, if it was, Al would have told him even though there was nothing that could be done- a man deserved to know when he was going to die. As things stood, it wasn't really an issue.

However, there was another issue to be addressed and he couldn't do it where he was. It was time to put his own feelings on the subject aside. He had to go see the visitor and pump him for some information concerning this leap. Al had a sneaking suspicion that Klink had been murdered (it was the only reason he could come up with for 'accident' to arrive days ahead of schedule) and there was a chance that Klink might know who would want to kill him. 

*** 

No one noticed the hologram's exit except Carter, who jumped a little when the imaging chamber door closed.  
  
***

Hogan returned to Barracks Two still reeling from everything he had learned today. It was just so unreal. How could something like this be possible? If it weren't for the sincerity of the things he was saying and his reaction to Carter's "unmasking", Hogan would have been sure that there was no Sam at all and that Klink was playing some sort of joke.

The disguise was perfect. Hogan could see no flaw in it- for all intents and purposes, Sam was Klink. Sam wouldn't explain how he looked and sounded exactly like Klink; he had said that it involved a lot of medical jargon that Hogan didn't really need to know. He had also seemed reluctant to explain how Carter could see what he really looked like. 

And the explanation that Hogan got about Al, the invisible friend, absolutely defied belief. It was a lot of information and Hogan just wanted to sit down for an hour or two and really think about it.

Unfortunately, he didn't really have time to fully adjust to the idea that he was working with a time traveler. There was still the matter of those people who had needed moving before this whole business had even begun. 

They were still in limbo over at the last check out point and Hogan knew that it wasn't safe to leave them there much longer. But, if what Sam had claimed had even been partially correct, then how safe was it to bring them here?

Three days: that's what Sam had said on the bug. They could wait for three more days and see what happened. Any longer than that and they'd be risking a lot of lives. 

That aside, there were still other things that he had to do. Even if Sam hadn't shown up, he would have still wanted to have the bugs in the guest quarters connected. In all of the excitement there hadn't been time to do so before General Boes had arrived. While what he was considering to have done could be a bit dangerous, he considered the risk worth the potential rewards. 

He looked at his men playing cards in time to see Carter jerk a little in his seat. 


End file.
